Making like tourists and a tour of Progressland.
Small cough of unaccustom. A bit of a blogging hiatus, due to health issues, a touch of ennui, and a burgeoning ceramics obsession – who’d’ve thought porcelain seedpods could be so utterly captivating?
Anyway. All that notwithstanding…
Progress of a sort has been made. Or might have been made. Is it too early for a small, parping fanfare? Probs. Too much touching wood to break out the trumpet – it could just as easily turn out to have been a collective lurch towards planning stalemate.
So. On Friday the Senior Architect, the Junior Architect, the Senior Heritage Housing Officer, a different type of Heritage Officer, the older Pimps, Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all (and all) met for an ‘informal’ chat about the planned changes.
It was the Different Type Of Heritage Officer we were all trying to impress, btw, by being, you know, all effortless and soignée. By sitting loose-limbed and nonchalant in our chairs and sliding our requests over as if they were already fact. As if they were ripe plums falling so persuasively and unobtrusively at her feet that she would see them for the gems they were and would sighingly, achingly gather them up and then lead us,hand in hand, towards rapturous approval and rapid completion.
It didn’t work quite that way, of course – the things we really wanted stood out like shiny sore thumbs. Like red eruptions on the nose. Eagerness beaded our shiny foreheads. Mr Pimp and I felt more like children at the mercy of a (potentially) withholding adult. Please Miss, if we’re very, very good, may we have an upstairs bathroom?Mais oui? Things seemed to go well. There was a bit of tooth sucking about the Juliet balconies but no other body language we could interpret as Terribly Bad Signs. Then we all trouped through to the house. The collective body language seemed to stiffen up a little at this point. Pieces of wood that might have to be surrendered. Bits of stone lost. We trailed from room to room, explaining our plans in a manner that was mixed supplication and assumed rights.
I didn’t go with them to the top floor. I couldn’t stand to hear what she might say about the upstairs bathroom. Couldn’t stand still while she cast her beautiful impassive eyes over me to see whether I was the sort of person who should be accorded the privilege of not having to traipse down a flight of stairs to have a pee in the middle of the night. The architect came back downstairs very Cheshire cattishly. He felt she was warm-ish about the idea.
So we shall see.
But anyway, things are moving. The schedule for repairs has been passed by the very lovely Housing Heritage Officer (not to be confused with the Heritage Officer) and is with the government’s legal dept now. Our DA for the changes is creaking and lurching towards submission. Only the Hydraulic Engineer and the Structural Engineer to do their reports and a few bits of mimsying over the plans and we may be in some sort of business
All pictures taken from Miss Pimpalicious’s phone in the gloaming on Sunday after we went for a potter around the Archibald and then made like tourists in the house’s local area.